Jeffrey L. Frischkorn: A stillness overtakes deer opener

ROME TOWNSHIP -- Monday's 2012 firearms deer-hunting season has become a part of Ohio's history.

While history often repeats itself, this is one time some firearms deer hunters would have preferred a different outcome. Myself included.

-- Zero hour plus 10: At 5:03 p.m., the silent work whistle blew. The end of legal shooting time laid a carpet of stillness not only to hush a dying wind but also to crush the mood. What began with so much hope 10 hours earlier and then became so much expectation as the hours crunched on ended fruitlessly with a shrug and an audible "ugh."

-- Zero hour plus 9.5: At exactly 4:30 p.m., the merciless cold electronic heart of the game feeder dispensed one pound of corn, unmindful and uncaring that the only visitors it was attracting were a buck fox squirrel and some resident woodland songbirds. "I think maybe we're shooting too many does," said Bev, likely echoing the thoughts other hunters may be harboring right about now.

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-- Zero hour plus 8: The text came crawling across the face of my cell phone as I typed a reply to another hunter who had written in classic understatement that things had kind of gotten "slow." And my response was that after eight hours of stump sitting "if you're not seeing deer on opening day you might be better off supervising the paint-drying crew." It's tough not to be cynical while keeping on an eye on the same view hour after hour.

-- Zero hours plus 6: By now, I had to periodically pinch myself and ask if this was really Ohio's typically noisy firearms deer-hunting season or the stealthy silence that dovetails with the archery deer hunting season. Yeah, it was that quiet by early afternoon. Still, four hours remain, and all that it can take to change it around is five minutes, I explained to my wife.

-- Zero hour plus 4: With the approach of lunch hour, when hunters are prone to vacate the woods for a short spell they often bump deer. And as often as not, these deer become fair game for those hunters who remain a fixture to their personalized stump. It's logical and makes sense, enough so that I became tense, anticipating something that didn't happen.

-- Zero hour plus 3: For more than two months, a trail camera I had installed overlooking a game feeder repeatedly captured the image of a doe and its twin fawns. Almost with Swiss-watch precision the deer had paid their respects to the game feeder. The camera's digital imagery allowed me to watch the young ones grow to shooting size.

-- Zero hours plus 2: "Huh," I brushed the expression on the morning tapestry that could have -- should have -- by now, at least included the bright pulsation of crimson blood rushing to make it a fight instead of a flee. "Oh, well," I handed myself my own response, "the day's yet young."

-- Zero hour plus 1: Strange, the level of gunplay was far more minimal than expected and further away than one would have opined before the hunt began. Which is a good thing, I whispered hoarsely to my wife. This way, the deer that will appear shortly won't have flames broiling from their hooves in a mad dash to escape. The morning's looking good.

-- Zero hour: Dawn was trying its darnedest to poke holes in the cloud cover and was winning, it seems. Right on cue and properly at the authorized shooting hour start, a two-round volley broke the silence. It's going to be a great morning, I figured, and I should be celebrating in time for lunch at the local diner.

-- Zero hour minus 1: Another opening day to look forward to and the mental checklist of gear recorded I forgotten nothing. I can almost smell the butterfly venison chops slow-roasting on the grill. After all, this opening day of Ohio's firearms deer hunting season. What could possibly go wrong?